


229 - Tattoo Artist Reader, Ewan McGregor, & Wedding Plus 1s

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert, body pos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “you’re a tattoo artist and van enjoys seeing you practice/ sketch out ideas and occasionally catfish fans come to visit you bc they think you’re dating van and want a tattoo from you?” and “girl and van have been good friends for year or so and he asks her to be his plus one to a wedding. @ end they both confess their feelings for one another/kiss.”Bonus mini-request for Van liking Reader’s tattoos, especially her tribute to Ewan McGregor (body positive).





	229 - Tattoo Artist Reader, Ewan McGregor, & Wedding Plus 1s

"That ain't for The Sir Ewan McGregor, is it?!" a happy voice squealed from beside you. Suddenly there was a hand on your arm, twisting it so they could see the tattoo better - McGregor's name in a candy heart. You shook your body free from the grip and looked at the person. His face dropped from the joyful smile instantly.

"Boundaries, mate," you said with a frown.

"Fuck. Sorry. Sorry, love. It's just that I love 'im, you know? He's class. And I'm in this band, see, and we got his face on the bass drum and everythin'. Just think that's a mad tattoo. Sorry."

He spoke fast and his apologies were thick with the truth. As the words tumbled from his mouth, his hands twitched through the air. On the final 'sorry,' he ran his hand through his hair and looked at you with a warm smile. He said it one more time.

"You're alright… What's your favourite film of his?"

"Well me best mate Larry likes Trainspottin', but I love Big Fish,"

"An interesting choice," you replied. He didn't look like the usual Tim Burton fan.

"Yeah, 'cause it's all about stories and I like stories. And it's 'bout love and stuff. Reminds me a bit of my family. I don't know, you know?"

You laughed. At least he didn't say anything about the Star Wars prequels.

…

"Hey, Moulin Rouge! You work here?" from Van's happy voice again. You took a step back to stand in the doorway between the tattoo shop front area and the consultation rooms. He was standing with a shorter guy and they were talking to Sonny, another artist.

"Hey, Big Fish. Yeah," you replied, walking over and leaning against the glass countertop. Sketches were be made up. "You getting something done?"

Van laughed but not as loudly as his friend. "Nah, love. This is Larry. He's getting this," he said, pushing the paper closer.

"It's cool. Hi," you directed at Larry. He smiled like he knew something you didn't. 

"Just making some final edits. I'll go make the stencil. Sit tight," Sonny announced, heading into the back.

"Y/N is the one with the Ewan McGregor tattoo," Van told Larry.

"Yeah… figured…"

"Never did ask you what you did. Guess this makes sense," Van said nodding. He fidgeted with his sunglasses as he spoke; he folded and unfolded them, putting them through the spaces between the buttons of his shirt.

"Guess it does," you replied.

"Been thinkin' about you actually. Where did you disappear to?"

A week and a bit before Van walked into the shop, when you'd met in the bar, you both knew you could be friends. The conversation was easy and whenever you would go to make a secret comment or look, he was already doing it. Compatible people. Then, he had gone out the front for a smoke and you'd found an old friend and followed them to a different place. Instead of ruminating over your one night friendship stand, you wrote about it in your journal and moved on. Life is full of little moments of magic; it's full of chance meetings that burn bright and short. Evidently, Van had let himself think about it all a bit more.

"Bumped into this girl I used to apprentice with. Caught up with her and all that," you said casually. Van nodded.

While Larry sat for Sonny, you entertained Van. He traced the coloured lines on your skin but decided the greyscale ones were better. You waited for his touch to feel electric; after all, he was beautiful and kind and the mess of freckles across his skin made you strangely calm. 

"You must handle pain well," he said, his voice soft and quiet. The tracing of lines had lulled you both into a placid state. You nodded and continued to watch him. "So, we gonna be friends now?" Another nod and when Van smiled you took note of the dimples in his cheeks.

…

"Y/N! Got a visitor!"

Van followed Sonny through the back. He plonked himself on the chair next to your desk.

"Whatcha doin'?" he asked, reaching his arms out to pull you by the waist. He hugged your middle from his sitting positioned. Ruffling his hair, you looked over at the sketches.

"Work. Just tryna fit in all the details they want. Want it to be perfect, you know?" 

"Yeah. Looks good," he replied, letting you go and wheeling himself closer to the scattered paper.

Van had brought you lunch, setting it up as a picnic on the table that was usually wrapped in plastic and holding a client. After, he stayed. He went to say hi to the other artists, pretended to be the receptionist out front until someone kicked him off the glass countertop, then returned to you.

Van lingered around a lot when he was in town. He said he would always be taking notes and writing lyrics in his head, but he'd never really been able to physically write around other people. You were different though. As you quietly drew, he could quietly write. A mutual understanding existed between the two of you.

...

After a couple months of casual hangs and weirdly regular Skype calls when he was away, Van started to show up at your flat as frequently and as unannounced as he did at the shop.

"Y/N!" Van yelled into your flat. He was banging on the bathroom door.

"Jesus, Van! How did you get in?!" you yelled back, hiding behind the shower curtain despite his inability to see your body.

"Know where the spare key is, innit! Missed ya! You almost done?!"

When you padded barefoot into the kitchen in track pants and a Bonds crop top, Van stood up from his seat and hugged you tightly. The wetness of your hair was darkening the material of his t-shirt, but he didn't seem to mind. When he let you go, he kissed your cheek before returning to his seat.

"How was the tour?" you asked.

"Monster. Still blows my mind every time they sing back, you know what I mean? Good to be home for a bit, but mostly just wanna get back out there."

It was Van's usual response. You made him tea and ordered pasta to be delivered. On the couch, Van sat too close and reacted immediately whenever the bolognese sauce dripped onto your chin. He'd swoop in and run the pad of his thumb along your skin and lip. 

After, when the takeaway containers were in the bin, you noticed the time.

"Are you planning on staying?" you asked Van. 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I've got to do some designs before tomorrow. You're welcome to stay…"

Of course, he would stay. As you sat at your drawing desk in your bedroom, Van played records and lounged around on your bed. He didn't have his notebook or guitar with him, so had nothing to do but exist. He flicked through pages of the art books on the shelf and then moved to sit behind you. You could feel his eyes on you.

"What are you doing?" you asked, turning around. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, just looking.

"Never seen the tattoos on your back before,"

"Usually wearing more than a crop top,"

"Yeah. Can I see?" he asked, standing up.

You studied his face for a second, trying to work out what he wanted. Innocent, it seemed; he just wanted to see the patterns and colours of your skin. Standing up, you let Van's hands sit on your shoulders, then gently spin you. His fingers moved across your skin, tracing the lines. He was quiet, which meant he was concentrating. He went to speak, but his voice cracked before he could. Van cleared his throat and tried again.

"I like these ones best out of all yours, 'cept the McGregor one of course,"

"Why?"

"You know I love him," Van replied, missing the point. You laughed.

"No, Van, why do you like these ones so much?"

"Dunno… Nobody gets to see them much, yeah? They're amazin', but they're a secret almost. Just like that I've seen them."

There was no way in Hell you were about to let yourself think too hard about that answer. Friends don't revel in the secrets of each other's bodies. They don't quietly ask to see exposed skin, then softly outline the individuality with the tips of their fingers. Well… none of your others friends did that, and you were willing to wager that Van didn't treat Larry's tattoos like that.

Van let you get back to work, then he passed out under the blankets of your bed. A little past one in the morning, you weren't sure if you should crash on the couch or climb in with him. He was in a hoodie though, his thumbs threaded through holes in the sleeve. Van in a hoodie was your catnap. As soon as you were under the covers, he pulled you in close.

In the morning, you were grateful to rise before both Van and your alarm. Showered and filled with instant coffee, you stood dressed and ready to go next to your bed. He was too peaceful to interrupt, so you wrote a note and left him to his dreams.

…

"How do you feel about formal wear?" Van asked over the phone a week later.

"I have no strong opinion about it. Why?"

"My mate is getting married. Want you to be my plus one,"

"Couldn't pull a pretty girl to go with, McCann?" you teased. He huffed.

"So rude. Here I am, asking you out on a proper date to a nice wedding with an open bar, and you gotta be all sassy 'bout it," he replied in that high pitched voice you loved.

You laughed and agreed, again completely disregarding the fact that he called it a "proper date." The lines between friends and more were blurred, at best. At worst, they were desecrated by the tension and the want, and laid in the ruins of all the quiet nights you were spending together.

…

Never had you ever picked clothes with the specific aim of showing off tattoos. In fact, your old housemate cut holes in her favourite t-shirt just to display hers and you had given her shit about it for weeks. So, when you realised all the dresses in your maybe pile were backless, you cursed at yourself. With a roll of the eyes and a bite of the lip, you accepted you were trying to impress Van and pretending otherwise would only result in weirdness.

When he picked you up on the morning of the wedding and saw your flowing pastel yellow dress, he visibly held his breath.

"Y/N. You look… Wow. Do a turn then," he said, holding his out for you to twirl under. That's when he saw the back. An audible gasp. "I love it. You look stunning. Absolutely glorious,"

"Okay, okay. Thank you, but-"

"But nothing. You've been walking around in jeans and shirts when you could've been killing us all like this,"

"Are you saying I'm not pretty in my regular clothes?" you asked with a smirk. Van had learnt to not give you the satisfaction of a response. He just threw you a look back. "Sorry. Thank you. Really. And look at you! You're in a proper penguin suit and everything!"

Van looked down and brushed the front of his suit uncomfortably. "Yeah… Don't love it, but you know, today ain't about me."

During the ceremony, Van took your hand and loosely held it in his lap. The wedding was beautiful and even though you didn't know the bride and groom, you were happy for them and their love. When they drove away and you were left in the park with Van and everyone else, he circulated through the crowd introducing you to people like you were his girlfriend. Everybody made the assumption, but neither of you did anything to stop it.

Between ceremony and reception, there were a couple of hours to kill. A pub between venues gave shelter and drinks to everybody. Van stood against the wall with an old friend and watched you play pool against someone. His eyes were on you, watching both your game and your body. It didn't occur to you that as you twisted and bent to get the right angles for the shots, the rolls of your hips and belly would be visible. It didn't occur to you because you were a) on your third glass of wine, b) completely comfortable, and c) all of a sudden unshakably confident that Van adored you.

Hitching a ride to the reception with other guests, you sat in the back and let your head roll onto Van's shoulder. He looked down at you with the dopey smile that always found a home on his face when he started to drink.

"You right, love?" he asked. You nodded. "Yeah? Havin' a good time?" You nodded again. He leant down and kissed the top of your head, and you closed your eyes just for a second.

A second was the whole twenty minute trip. "Van, the wife's a lightweight!" a voice from the driver's seat said. Van laughed.

"Yeah. She'll be right once we get some food in her," Van replied.

You sat up and looked around, a little disorientated. Van helped you from the car and you followed him into the venue. He was right. Once seated and fed, you came alive again. Van made the mistake of telling the table you were a tattoo artist. You spent almost an hour giving free advice, trying to be as polite as possible.

"Going for a smoke. Sorry guys, gotta stop the consultation. Y/N?" Van asked with a hand out. You took it and let him pull you from the room. Outside, you sat side by side on cold steps. "Should've thought that through,"

"It's alright," you replied.

"It's like when people know I'm in a band that does alright, I guess. Handin' me demos or whatever,"

"Yeah, but you like that,"

"Yeah. Sorry. I really-"

"Van, it's okay. You're good."

He nodded and lit a smoke, sharing it with you, and then a second. Without asking if you were cold, he took his jacket off and gently put it over your shoulders. You pulled it around you.

"Not a bad date then?" he asked. You looked over at him. He was watching the cars on the highway in the distance. The blur of colour was pretty. His lack of eye contact was purposeful and protective.

"Is that what this was?" you replied.

"I… uh, I don't know. Never even thought about bringing anybody else,"

"Right."

Silence then; an opportunity to say more, say everything, and an opportunity to say nothing. Like you both realised that at the same moment, you both went to speak at the same time.

"Sorry, you-" Van said.

"No, no, you go," you replied.

He nodded, making heavy eye contact, then looking away quickly. "Y/N, I… It's good when we hang out, right? Comfortable and stuff?"

"Yeah. It's… easy,"

"Exactly! Yeah. Always been grateful for that. Never wanted to ruin it or anything. But, I just… Never really been the type of person to sit around and wait for good things to come to me, you know? If I see something I want, then I go out and get it. Life ain't gonna hand me everything on a silver platter." Van spoke like he was psyching himself up, getting ready to deliver a speech. "It was like that with the band. But, um, with like, people too, you know what I mean?" He was still watching the highway and you were watching his hands move through the air. "And, ah, I don't believe that rubbish 'bout how boys and girls can't be friends. I got loads of girl friends that I never wanted… like, anything more with, you know? So it's not like that with you, it's not that I think just 'cause we're close that it must mean something or anything." He was losing himself in the speech, in trying to explain himself. "So it means that I know I proper like you. More than a friend. And I'd be fuckin' stupid to not say something. Wasted enough time just showing up at the shop and your place." He paused and looked at you.

"Okay…" you said slowly, not sure what he needed you to do or say. Just a prompt to continue, maybe.

"I want you, Y/N. I like everything about you. You're funny and creative and you get me. You're dead beautiful and we like the same stuff. It's just… so fuckin' good being around you. Never wanna leave. Ever. So… yeah… this is a proper date… if you want it to be."

He was done. His speech was punctuated with a shaky, long breath out. You reached out for his hand and threaded your fingers through his. You were nodding before you realised you were doing it.

"Yes," you said concisely.

"Yes?"

"Yeah. Yes,"

"That’s it?" Van said, but it was almost a squeal. You laughed.

"What do you want me to say? You said it all. I don't know. Hashtag same?"

"Hashtag same?!" His voice was the highest you'd ever heard it. "You're unbelievable! Pour my little heart out and you just say hashtag fucking same,"

"You took all the good words! Besides, words are your thing. Pictures are mine. When we get back to mine I'll show you my sketchbook and you'll get it," you told him. He looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

"You been drawing me?"

"Maybe,"

"Are they like, dirty pictures? Like the ones you did for that girl with the girl all tied up?"

You dropped Van's hand and stood up, ready to walk back into the reception. Van was cackling with laughter. He followed you. 

"Shut up, Van,"

"They are, right?"

"No. I don't draw pin-up bondage pictures of you,"

"Well, that sounds like a lie, love."

He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and walked awkwardly into the room with you. In the setting of a wedding, a setting of love, it was easy to find yourself falling into the role of girlfriend. The night went on and you drank more and let Van all-but-carry you home. Tucked into bed with him, he traced the patterns on your skin again and kissed each tattoo like he was giving blessings.

"Y/N?" he whispered through the darkness. You mumbled out a small sound in reply. "I'm fallin' in love with you,"

"Ha-"

"Don't you fuckin' dare,"

"-shtag same."


End file.
